Break Me, Heal Me
by sadisticscribbles
Summary: When Mike is seized by members of the Chechen Mafia and tortured, it's up to Briggs to coax him out of his misery. Rated M for violence, small-scale mutilation, torture, and language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, much darker this time.**

* * *

Light swam in front of Mike's eyes. A headache stabbed through his temples.

"Gah!"

He couldn't shade his eyes. His arms were... yeah, definitely tied to that chair. Legs too. Squinting, he could just make out several figures behind the light. Memories of the last few hours shot through his mind.

_Sitting there outside that brothel, waiting for the Chechen proprietors to leave- and he'd nearly had the ringleader when a muscular arm had seized the hand that held the gun, the other wrapping around his throat. The others were too far down the street... And when they found the handcuffs in his coat it was all over. A fist had connected with the spot between his eyes and..._

Here he was.

"Awake then." It wasn't a question and Mike didn't reply. The speaker sighed. "Look, kid. Just give us some quick answers, and this can go a lot faster. Much less talk, much less pain. But, your choice."

Again, Mike did not answer.

"How did you find us?"

"It- it was an accident!"

"So..." His interrogator remained in the shadows- quite intelligently, Mike reflected. "What you're telling me is that you were roaming the streets at night, and you just happened to stumble across our little establishment with handcuffs and a gun."

"Seriously!" The note of hysteria entering his voice wasn't quite affected, as one of the other figures- more bulky than the speaker- began to pace casually in the gloom beyond the naked light bulb. "I mean-" He stopped. "Let me explain. I've... I've got a girlfriend, she- she lives around here- and she- you know, she's into the whole bondage thing, you know... and the gun... I mean I wasn't going around here- the underside of the city, you know- without some kind of weapon- I mean, take advantage of second amendment while we can, right?" He gave the room a shaky smile. "I just got lost."

There was a vaguely impressed silence. Then-

"That's got to be the most fucked-up explanation I've ever heard."

"No, seriously, it's true! I swear!"

"Then why are your handcuffs standard FBI issue?"

Mike's mouth closed, he could _feel_ the color draining out of his face. Busted.

_Don't spill anything about Graceland. Don't incriminate a victim. Shit._

"No?" The interrogator sighed once more. "Okay, Polzin? You can take it from here."

_Shit shit shit!_

One of the larger shapes in the room moved forward.

_Okay, Mike, they're going to hit you, they're going to do a ton of shit but you're not going to say anything because you graduated top of your class and you just don't fuck up like that..._

Mike let out a grunt as a fist connected with his nose, praying the crack he heard didn't mean it had broken. Several other punches caught his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose again.

"Once again- how did you find us?"

Mike clamped his mouth shut, as if the next blow would bring all the information he had to the surface.

Another punch, and his head snapped back, a strangled groan sounding in his throat.

"It... was an accident!"

"You expect me to believe that half-assed story?"

"It's true, goddamn it!"

"Keep going."

"No- wait!" A fist connected with his temple. Again- again- again- the fists slammed into his face. Mike struggled against his bonds, the bruises the punches were undoubtedly leaving throbbed and ached. He could feel something sliding down his upper lip. Blood from his nose?

His attacker sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a penknife. Mike's eyes widened, leaning back to avoid the blade.

"What names do you have?"

_Valeria Zubareva, Leah Alexeyeva, Daniel Aliyev._ Mike thought. He said nothing.

A sigh.

"I'll ask one more time. What names do you have?"

There was a horrible silence, the agent gnawing on his lips.

"Carve him up."

Mike drew in a breath sharply, limbs straining in earnest now as the tip of blade brushed the skin under his eyes- god, they were teasing him! His breath, which had quickened, halted suddenly as the blade scratched him on each cheek.

The knife moved down, passing over his throat, circling over his body. Down his collarbone... making for his shoulder. The point dove forward-

"_Fuck!"_

His tormentor stumbled back, shrieking, Mike's teeth buried in the flesh of his hand, some primal instinct telling him to hang on. The knife slipped in the man's grasp, blade nicking the agent several times around the mouth, leaving thin seams of blood. Blood welled out of the teethmarks, flooding his mouth. He gagged, finally forced to let go as the gore ran down his chin. To his chagrin, he felt a shuddering sob run through him.

The man muttered something in Russian under his breath, falling out of the light.

"Get a bandage on that. Viktor, take over." Came the voice of the interrogator.

Another man detatched himself from the shadows. Mike, blood running over his lower lip, didn't dare close his eyes. The wounds from the knife stung like paper cuts.

"Listen." The man's voice was still the same, conversational tone. "I know you're an FBI agent. Just tell me what you know and how you found us, and we'll let you go."

Mike spat out a gob of blood.

"If you think I'd believe that for one second, you're delusional." His voice shook. "And I don't give a flying fuck what you say."

Another sigh.

"Keep hitting him."

The Chechen's fist swung forward, yet faltered ats Mike snapped at it. He was an animal, running on impulse. An animal being hunted, in pain and terrified. Then the man overcame his hesitancy, slamming his fist into Mike's nose. The hits were faster than before, coming like gunshots. A foot smashed into his shin. A sudden image of Briggs flashed through his mind, although he couldn't understand why. Mike was left slumped in his seat, moaning, tears running out of his eyes.

"That's what will happen if you try biting again."

The blows continued.

"How much do you know about us?" The horrible voice with its thick accent demanded.

Mike painfully raised his bruised head, through the blows.

"Wait! Stop, I- I'll- I know you're..." He drew a tremoring breath. "... you're a group of human traffickers. You take both men and women. Primarily... Latvian and... Romanian... that- that's all... "

"Common knowlege, anybody around here would know that. How much do _you_ know?"

"_That's all, I swear!_"

There was a sudden stutter of gunfire, even as the Chechen set at Mike again. The agent's head snapped back just as the door behind him burst open. The inquistor yelled a single word in Russian and everyone dropped to the floor just a stream of bullets flew past Mike, narrowly missing him.

And then blue-uniformed police were running past, tackling the men on the ground, handcuffing them. Mike thought he recognized Briggs and DJ among the officers. He could dimly hear Miranda Rights being read as someone began tugging at the ropes that bound him, thin hands rubbing at the red patches on his wrists and ankles.

"Johnny, get his other leg."

Briggs shoved one of the Chechens at an officer and turned to the center of the room, catching sight of Mike, still slumped in his seat, blood spilling over his chin.

"Shit." He muttered, and ran forward, gently prising open Mike's mouth, ignoring the bloody saliva and the man's confused and tearful whimper, carefully feeling around the inside. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God. His tongue's still in."

Johnny joined him.

"Oh hell, Mike..." Gingerly he and Briggs helped the agent on his feet. Mike moaned. "Okay, Mike? Listen to me. Painkillers. _Painkillers._ Tons... five hundred bottles of painkillers..." Charlie and DJ fell in step behind them.

"Can you walk, or do you need help?"

"I'm... I'm fine..."

Mike got two steps before he crashed to the floor, face colorless.

"Maybe not."

It was Briggs who helped him up.

"What's all that blood from?" He asked.

"I... bit one of their hands..."

The older man grinned.

"Good for you." Carefully, he put one of Mike's arms around his neck. Johnny took the other, awkwardly making their way out the door when a voice stopped them.

"Briggs!" They shifted slowly around to see one of the officers waiting. "We need him. You know, questioning." He pointed to Mike.

"Questioning? He's _been _questioned."

The policeman had the decency to look apologetic.

"I'm sorry, we just need a statement."

"Um, _look_ at him?"

"I know, and I am sorry," This was directed at Mike. "But... police procedure."

Briggs raised his free hand.

"Okay. How's this? We go back home and give him a day or two to rest him up, and then he can go down to the station and you can get your statement."

"Tomorrow then."

"Sure. Tomorrow."

Turning, they left the police to clean up. They had problems of their own.

* * *

"Okay, I'm breaking a couple of driving laws right now," Briggs said, helping Mike into the car. "But after what just happened, I'm not seatbelting you."

Mike nodded muzzily as the older man patted him on the back.

"You did good." Briggs murmured.

They were on the highway before anyone spoke.

"So, we've got that division in custody." DJ said from the passenger seat. "But, this is a wide-spread operation we're talking about. It's one of the largest trafficking gangs in the US."

"Chechen Mafia." Johnny observed. "What do you expect?"

Next to him, another tear slid down Mike's bruised cheek. Charlie put a comforting arm around him, but he didn't respond, simply continuing to sob.

"Mike, you're okay." Briggs said over his shoulder, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. "It's all over."

"Just... they tell you and tell you what to do when it happens- 'cause, I mean, they tell you, it's _going_ to happen- but... it's not enough..."

"Mike, it never is."

The younger agent, buried his face in hands. He yelped in pain.

"We should have something for that..."

Johnny leaned forward, scanning the floor of the car. Eventually he reappeared with a small first-aid kit.

"We've got Advil, Aspirin, and... a dab of morphine... though I don't reccomend the Aspirin... doesn't let your blood clot."

"Just _something..._" Mike moaned through his tears. The car made a sharp turn, throwing them all to one side momentarily. "_Owwww!"_

Johnny nodded to himself.

"Yeah, let's make it the morphine." He rifled through the kit, pulling out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a syringe. "Hang on- I gotta give the speech." He held up his hands theatrically. "This is morphine, don't get addicted."

Mike gestured blindly at his arm.

"Just do something."

"'kay..." Johnny attempted to clean part of the agent's arm with the alcohol, but the car swerved again. "Damn it, can you not turn like that?!"

"I am in control of a great many things," Briggs snapped. "But Los Angeles traffic is not one of them!"

"Then pull over, seriously, I'm about to stick a needle in his arm!"

Briggs sighed and spun the wheel once more, rolling his eyes. They came to a halt by the sidewalk.

"Make it quick." He said. "The roads are only getting more congested."

Mike screwed his eyes shut, looking away as the other man slid the needle in, hitting the plunger. Almost immediatly, his face relaxed, sighing in relief.

"Can we get back on the road now?" Briggs asked.

"Yes, Mr. Road Rage." Johnny replied. "By all means."

Mike's head slumped onto his shoulder, the other man suppressing a grin.

"How you feeling, Mike?"

"... like... glass..."

"Yeah?" Johnny wasn't making any effort to hide the smile now. "Well, tell you what, Mike. Why don't you just sleep, and we'll wake you up when we're back."

The younger agent nodded drowsily, eyes sliding shut.

* * *

The next thing Mike was sensible of when he awoke was that his face was freezing. Sort of.

"Ugh?"

The room was swimming in and out of focus with... was that Briggs?... sitting beside him.

"Don't get up." Yes, that was Briggs' voice. "We've got your head elevated perfectly, we don't need you messing that up."

"What... doing...?"

"Icing your bruises. I think it's safe to say you'll look like you were in a really spectacular bar fight once these start calming down."

"Oh..."

"Yeah."

There was a silence.

"You... you've got... six heads..."

Briggs' lips twitched.

"Yeah, Mike. Can't think how you missed that before."

A short pause. Mike could feel the familiar, soft oblivion creeping over him once more.

"...sexy..." He murmured and was pulled under.

* * *

The morphine was wearing off by the time he woke up. His vision was no longer waving, sound seemed to be clearer. He could hear the waves on the shore close by.

Waves.

Suddenly, he needed the salty air. Something to clear up his brain.

Mike sat up in bed with a rickety creak. Not his usual one. He'd been put on the sofa bed. Probably so anybody who happened to be in the vicinity could keep an eye on him.

Ow.

Yes, definitely wearing off. He could feel his bruises again. Ouch.

And somebody had pulled his grimy, blood-stained clothes off, replacing them with a t-shirt and sweatpants. He tried not to dwell on who _that_ might have been. He'd probably end up with a migraine.

There was a warm breeze, which somewhat soothed the ache from his wounds.

_Grunting from the pain, heart still not recovering from the terror of the knife, choking on blood..._

Mike pushed the memories from his mind, leaning against the railing of the deck, taking great gulps of air.

_It's over, Mike. _He told himself. _It's over, and they can't touch you now, and it's all okay, right? It's all over..._

He shivered despite the warm would always be someone else... someone else intent on making him suffer...

He started suddenly as the door to the deck opened again, looking around.

Standing on the threshold, Briggs looked vaguely surprised to find the other man there before him.

"Isn't this a popular place." He joined Mike by the railing. "I like to come out here in the mornings. So much more peaceful. Best part of LA is the mornings." He noticed Mike's face, still staring out at the ocean, eyes glimmering.

"Ki- Mike. Listen to me. It's okay to hurt. It's okay that... maybe you didn't do what the Academy taught you to do. Believe me-"

Mike looked away, catching a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"I just can't... let it go..."

"Mike?"

"What?"

"Are you sure they just hit you?" Mike stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Was there more than just fists and a penknife?"

"Oh no, nothing like that!" He said hastily.

Briggs nodded.

"Good. You don't exactly need any more damage."

There was silence.

"You're good, Mike. Exceptional, even. If you'd just loosen up on yourself..."

"Don't go by the book, you mean."

Briggs nodded.

"Do what you feel is right. Not what some guy in a tie told you was mandatory."

Mike bit his lip, saying nothing.

"Come on." The other touched his arm gently. "Let's take a walk."

* * *

"It's just... I can't stop thinking about it... that voice- all of them, in my head..." Mike glanced at the other man as they stumbled through the sand. "Sorry, I'm- I'm turning you into my shrink, and-"

"Don't apologize." Briggs replied. "Sometimes it's better to talk to people you know."

The other man stopped.

"I... I don't know you at all."

Briggs bit his lip.

"Come on." He said after a moment. "Let's keep going. And keep talking. Better to get all this out now."

A sudden fit of barking filled the air. Mike smiled feebly as a familiar black and white shape bounded over the dunes.

"Hey bud. How you doing?"

He crouched down, stroking the dog's back. Glancing up at Briggs-

"I just feel... weak..."

Briggs nodded.

"That's normal."

"No, you don't understand. I-" He swallowed hard, abandoning the dog for a moment. "I caved."

The older agent stared at Mike for a moment, then dropped into the sand beside him.

"You what?"

"I... talked."

He seized Mike's arm.

"What did you say? How much did you tell them?"

"No names!" Mike said quickly. "The victims should be safe. Just that... that I knew what they were, the kinds of people they took..."

Briggs breathed a sigh of relief.

"Common knowledge. We should be okay. Anymore than that... we'd be burned."

"I... I gave them that information." Mike stared out bitterly at the waves washing in. "Just to make them _stop._ And it wasn't even enough. It wasn't fucking enough for them!" He stood back up as the dog abandoned him, breathing hard, trying to sort out his thoughts. Briggs put a hand on his shoulder.

"Mike..."

"I'm not worth this." He continued. "I'm just _not. _No matter what I do, I fuck up! I'm absolutely useless!"

"_Hey!_"

The agent found himself spinning around, Briggs staring at him angrily.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"Sell yourself short like that. You graduated top of your class- now, you're no genius, you screw up, but that's normal. You're a rookie, you're only human. But you are still a damn good agent, and I know that with time, you will grow into an agent I can rely on. So, I don't ever want to hear you sell yourself short like that again. You got me?"

Mike stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Say, _yes, sir._"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He let the other man go. "Now, where were we?"

Mike looked away.

"I don't remember." He said thickly. Briggs sighed.

"Mike... you've got to learn to just let these things go. If you let each and every bruise reach your soul... you're done, Mike. Completely done." The younger man didn't reply. "We slip up sometimes. We say things we don't mean to say. Hell, you told me I was _sexy_ last night. It-"

He finally turned.

"Wait, what?"

Briggs held up his hands.

"Okay, I should probably mention that you also thought I had six heads. I mean, whatever turns you on-"

Mike burst out laughing, the other man joining in.

"See?" Briggs said. "You can still smile."

The agent flopped into the sand, staring at his shoes.

"Yeah. I can. Doesn't mean I'm not hurting though."

"You're an agent now, Mike. You'll never stop hurting."

"Youhurt?"

Briggs nodded, sitting beside his fellow agent.

"Every day."

Another wave washed onto the shore, showering them with salty spray. Mike hissed, clapping a hand to his cheek.

"Damn!"

"You alright?"

"No!" The agent rubbed gingerly at the bruises on his face.

"Yeah, several of those opened while they were still hitting you. That blood on your clothes was yours as well as the Chechen's."

"Didn't... even realize."

Mike retreated from the water, seating himself in the sand. The other man joined him, pausing only a moment as the younger agent leaned into him, gently resting his head on his shoulder, staring out at the ocean.

"Sun's rising."

"Yeah."

Briggs glanced down at the other man, who shaking ever so slightly, eyes welling, almost clinging to him. He gently took his hand.

"Come on... come on, Mike..." He whispered. "Just pull through."

Mike gripped the other's hand, knuckles blanching.

"What if I can't? What if I don't? What if... what if I stay like this forever?"

Briggs pulled him closer, pressing his lips into his hair before he realized what he'd done.

"You're not." He mumbled. "I'm not going to _let_ you."

* * *

**Review?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, so at long last, here's chapter two! And it's not done yet…**

* * *

It was 23:12 and Mike really shouldn't have been making coffee so late at night, but after the dreams he'd just had... he'd take his chances with conciousness.

Coffee powder landed partly in the filter and partly on the counter.

_His wrists and his ankles tied together.._. _wet sand in his hair, under his hands..._

Now the water, but his hands were shaking too much, sending several scalding drops splashing onto his skin. It was just no use, he was shit at coffee.

_Every wave crashing over his head, filling his nose and his mouth, leaving inexplicable welts on his skin..._

Mike rummaged through one of the cabinets, in search of a mug. He'd only turned one light on, in case it woke any of the others- the gloom made it hard to see. But he didn't want to be cause of any more anger.

_Couldn't move, couldn't breathe-_

Finally, his trembling hands closed around the handle of one, only to have slip from his grip. Shards of porcelain scattered across the floor.

"Shit!"

He knelt down, attempting to scoop up the larger fragments with his bare hands. Lack of proper rest had numbed his mind.

"Ow!" One of the shards sliced against his hand-

_And he was back in that chair, that light shining in his eyes, the knife blade so close to his skin he could feel it bite even before it touched him, just scratching below his eyes-_

"No...!"

The pieces slipped from his grasp as he leaned against the counter, covering his eyes, ignoring the blood from his palm.

"Oh god..." The first sob forced itself through his throat.

There was a sudden tramp of footsteps, and Mike looked up just in time to find Briggs, Charlie, and Johnny standing there, guns ready to fire. Charlie dropped hers immediately, hurrying to the agent by the counter, ignoring the porcelain fragments that covered the tile.

"What happened?" She took in his face as the other two men wordlessly began picking up the pieces of the mug in dishtowels. "Another flashback, wasn't it?"

Mike nodded, feeling another tear run down his cheek.

"Okay, come here, I'll get something for your hand. And stay off the tile until they've cleaned up!"

Mike slowly moved off the kitchen floor, nursing his hand, as the woman hurried into the bathroom down the hall, likely in search of bandaids and Neosporin.

Briggs shot him a glance as he dumped the last of the porcelain into the trash.

"You alright?"

Mike shook his head. It was idiotic to pretend otherwise.

Briggs and Johnny joined him on the other side of the counter.

"It's okay, man. Accidents happen." Johnny gave him a flash of a smile before heading back for his bedroom.

Mike looked away as his training officer put a hand on his shoulder. Neither of them had mentioned that morning on the beach three days ago, although, truth be told, it was all Mike could think of when he and Briggs talked. How he only really felt safe when he was with Briggs, how all he could remember was the feel of his lips in his hair when he was near... and it had to be _Briggs_ of all people...

"Do you need to talk?"

"No, I'm... I'm fine…"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, that's enough." They both looked up to see Charlie at the foot of the stairs, clutching a box of bandages and a small tube of antibiotic cream. "Don't crowd him."

"I was not-" Briggs began.

"Bed." She said firmly. "We all know what you're like in the morning, and we don't want to have to drag you out of your room tomorrow."

Muttering, Briggs headed down the hall, with a last glance at Mike.

"Okay, this might sting a bit." Charlie sat on the other bar stool, one sleeve of her oversized t-shirt sliding off her shoulder as she squeezed some of the Neosporin onto her finger. "Hand?"

The man complied, wincing as the cream was rubbed into the wound.

"Sorry, I'm trying to be gentle..."

Mike bit his lip, trying not to pull away.

"It's... fine..."

"There." Charlie patted his hand lightly. "You're done. Now go get some rest. Don't think I haven't noticed those dark circles." She gave him a playful push towards his room as they stood, in an ill-fated attempt to make him smile. Mike nodded, having no other choice but to obey. How could he tell her about the horrors he faced the moment he turned out the light, how he didn't dare sleep because he relived that whole hour with the mafia men?

_Damn it, Mike. You're better than this. You trained for this. Why can you just cope?_

Steeling himself, he took a breath and walked carefully down the hall.

_See? Nothing in the dark_. He told himself. _Nothing to be afraid of. _

_Then why do I get those nightmares?_

He'd stopped in the middle of the hall, frozen in the darkness. Charlie must have already gone back to her room. _Shit, why did I stop? I'll be out here all night..._ _just move, damn it!_ Taking a deep breath, he hurried through the gloom, not daring to pause until he blindly reached his door, wrenching it open, struggling to catch his breath.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, falling to his knees. A tear dripped off the end of his nose.

_God, what's the matter with me?_

* * *

He floated in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night- some part of his brain not daring to let him sleep. Only when he heard the regular clamor of voices outside and the smell of bacon was wafting into his room did he allow himself to dress and step out.

"Hey Levi."

Mike faked a horrible smile, sitting on the barstool- the same one as last night. Someone dropped a plate in front him.

"Hey DJ."

He stared down at the dish in front of him- eggs and several slices of bacon with a muffin balanced precariously on the edge. Mike swallowed hard, playing with the end of his fork, looking up at Briggs, who was dropping pans in the sink.

"You do all this?"

"I did the eggs and the bacon. Johnny got the muffins this morning."

Mike nodded slowly.

"Cool. Thanks."

Briggs gave him an odd look.

"... no problem..."

"Okay," Johnny, seated on the sofa, put aside his scraped-clean plate. "I've got to go get suited up."

Charlie looked up from her own plate.

"Oh? What are you doing?"

Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Some anti-queer gang thought it'd be fun to gang rape a sixteen year old lesbian. So, yeah. I gotta go join a hate group." Depositing his plate in the sink, he headed down the hall for the costume room.

Briggs glanced at Mike, who stared at his plate blankly.

"Hey, eat that! I did not spend fifteen minutes on breakfast just so you can let it sit there."

Mike sighed, grudgingly take a small bite out of his muffin.

"How's your hand?" Charlie asked. The other agent shrugged.

"It's alright."

They both looked down at his palm, at the bandaid that hung limply off his skin. The scab looked delicate, as if it would break at any moment.

"It's fine." He repeated.

"What happened to your hand?" Paige craned her neck in curiosity.

"Um, nothing... just... accident last night."

"Oh, okay." She gave him a sympathetic smile as she left the room, DJ following soon after.

Mike put down his fork.

"So... when are you going to put me back on cases?"

"I'm not."

"What?"

"What?" Charlie and Mike's voices tripped over each other.

Briggs turned.

"Not until you're stable."

"But, I can't just stay here for the entire day!"

"Go down to the beach." Briggs suggested. "You don't need to shut yourself up in here."

"But-"

"Mike," Charlie put a hand on his arm. "He does have a point. An agent that can't function properly in the dark and gets flashbacks isn't going to be much good for anything."

"In other words, when you can actually tolerate any _mention_ of physical violence without having a panic attack, then we'll put you back on cases. Until then..." Briggs spread his arms wide. "Whatever you like. Sleep, surf- no, actually, don't surf, there won't be any of us to help when you wipe out."

"Mike, it's-"

Charlie's sentence died as Mike slid off the barstool irritably, leaving the kitchen. There was a thud of a door in the silence. Wordlessly, Briggs took the plate that Mike had left, staring at it for a moment before scraping its contents into the trash. Eventually, Charlie voiced what they were both thinking.

"He didn't eat a thing."

The man nodded.

"He hasn't eaten in a while. He just sits there and hopes nobody will notice."

"Yeah. Briggs," Charlie leaned forward. "He's starting to scare me. He barely talks, he doesn't eat, it doesn't look like he's sleeping... what I'm wondering is-"

"- how this is going to affect any future cases." Briggs finished. The woman nodded.

"I mean, even if he does get better, if he gets affected this badly every time something like that happens... maybe this isn't the place for him."

"Maybe the Bureau isn't the place for him." The training officer added. "I know it's his dream, I know how much this job means to him... but he can't keep risking his emotional health like this, and Graceland's safety."

"You should talk to him." Charlie said, brushing some hair behind her ear. Briggs wrinkled his nose.

"Me?"

"Yeah. I mean, you _are_ his training officer, and he seems to like you. Anybody else... I think it would be awkward."

"What about you?"

"I... he doesn't talk to me anymore. Ever since that incident with the mafia... he's just shut down. He doesn't talk to me. I can't talk to him."

"You know me, I'm not exactly a fuzzy blanket of comfort."

Charlie shrugged.

"True, but, you know, anything's better than DJ."

Briggs snorted.

"True that."

"And I really do think he'd be happier."

"Yeah, but-"

"Just talk to him, okay? Whenever you get a moment. The sooner, the better." She added. "He's just getting worse."

* * *

The first thing Briggs noticed coming back to the house was the smell. Heavy disinfectant lemon clogged his nostrils. Wrinkling his nose in self-defense, he moved slowly up towards the bedrooms. Maybe he could catch a little rest before the others came back...

He'd just gone upstairs when he finally hit the disinfectant zone. God, that stuff was foul...

And every surface in that kitchen was sparkling.

Briggs knew, even before he peered slowly around the counter, what he would find.

Mike looked up at him, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes hollow with lack of sleep. A basket of surface cleaner and several old rags were beside him. His cheeks were wet.

"Jesus, Mike." Briggs murmured. "I give you another day off and you go and clean the whole house."

Mike shrugged miserably.

"I... I had to do something worthwhile..."

"I know, but still... of all the things you could do, suffocating on Lysol..." Briggs trailed away, and quietly sat beside him, noticing the nearly invisible tear running down his nose. "You want to talk?"

Mike shook his head.

"Okay. That's okay."

There was a lengthy silence, and then Mike began to sniffle, allowing the older agent to put his arm around him, pulling him close.

"I'm- I'm really sorry..."

"Hush. It's okay, you don't need to apologize..."

"I- I cleaned the kitchen and both of the bathrooms, and put the dishwasher on another cycle. Should I-"

"No." Briggs said firmly. "You've done too much as it is. Now, I want you to go to your room, or get a pillow and sleep on the couch, but just rest. That's the one thing you haven't done today, by the looks of it."

"But-"

"Pillow. Couch. We'll wake you up when the pizza's ready."

"But I-"

Briggs kissed him, arm still comfortably around his shoulders.

"Sir... what...?"

Again, slower this time. The older agent drew him closer, till Mike was nearly in his lap, arms encircling his body. He broke away suddenly, noticing the other man's shuddering tears.

"Have..." He wet his lips. "Have you talked about this with the shrink? I mean, with those weekly visits...?"

Mike looked up suddenly, a haunted look in his eyes, hands still on Brigg's chest.

"Oh god..."

He stood and fled the room, his sobs echoing behind him, leaving the other man sitting behind the counter, wondering what he'd said, and what he'd just done.

* * *

They ate out on the beach that evening, devouring slices of pepperoni pizza, washing it down with rum and beer. Briggs sat beside Mike the moment he noticed he was merely picking at his pizza.

"Eat."

"Okay, okay."

"_Eat_, or do I have to help you?"

"No, you don't."

Mike glared at him, taking the largest bite Briggs had seen him make in the past week.

"That's more like it." The older agent put an arm around him, but Mike did not respond. It was a far cry from earlier that day when, for a time, they'd simply clung to each other behind the counter. Before Mike had run off...

"Hey, Mike- once you finish that- can we talk?"

Mike nodded, standing, abandoning his paper plate.

"I said when you finish that."

He shrugged.

"I'm not hungry."

Briggs sighed in frustration, but knew there was no way to sway the other man. He took Mike to the side, closer to the ocean. The salty spray was cool on their faces.

"Listen, about earlier today- I'm sorry." Briggs ran a hand through his hair, eyes somewhere in the region of his shoes. "I... acted on impulse and... I'm sorry if I scared you off."

"No, it's- it's fine." Mike seemed just as uncomfortable, if not more. "It wasn't- it's okay." He laughed hollowly. "Kind of enjoyed it, to tell you the truth."

Briggs grinned.

"Was that as open-ended as it sounded?"

The other man shrugged.

"That's up to you."

Briggs cautiously met his gaze, their fingertips brushing just for a moment. He looked away.

"How are you?" He murmured. "I mean, how are you doing?"

Mike shrugged.

"The same."

"Not good at all, then."

"... yeah."

"Is there anything you need?"

Mike nodded.

"Yeah. I need to stop being afraid of every little thing."

"You're still getting over what happened." The other man said. "It's going to take time."

"Yeah." Mike sat in the sand, wrapping his arms around his legs, like he had in the kitchen. "I'm just sick of waiting for it."

Briggs put a hand on his shoulder.

"Maybe that's what you're doing wrong." He said. "Maybe you can't wait. Maybe you have to fight it."

Mike looked up at him for a moment, and reached up, grabbing Briggs' hand. The other man felt himself go down, landing on his knees beside him with a grunt as the younger agent seized his head, pulling him into a clumsy kiss, full of tongues and teeth. Finally, they broke apart.

"What... was that?" Briggs gasped. Mike smiled sheepishly in the darkness.

"I figured- if we were going to fight- that was how we should start."

"Do you?"

Mike nodded.

"Then..." Briggs said. "Let's try that again."

Now fully aware of each other, they moved more slowly, inching closer, trembling slightly. Mike's eyes slid shut as their lips brushed together, hands enveloped in the other man's. So perfect... safe-

"Hey, Briggs!"

_Go to hell, Johnny Tuturro._

Briggs turned back at the campfire.

"What?" The annoyance in his voice was unmistakable.

"We've got one slice of pizza left, you want it?"

"No, give it to Mikey here!"

Mike glared at him.

"No, seriously, I'm not hungry-"

"You still need to eat!" Briggs stood, stretching a hand down to Mike. "Come on, if you eat half, I'll eat the other half. Sound like a plan?"

The other man nodded.

"... sure."

"Come on."

Briggs put an arm around him, leading him back to the fire. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't register the laughter until Charlie beside him doubled over, shoulders shaking. He looked up just in time to see Mike struggling with the pizza in his hands, the cheese slipping messily off his slice.

"Oh shit!"

The entire topping of the pizza slid into his other hand. Mike looked up in mock fury at the others.

"Who- who ordered this? Because this is," He made an ill-fated attempt to get the cheese back on the bread. "undoubtedly the cheapest pizza I have ever eaten in my life."

Johnny spread his hands wide.

"Look, man. I'm just trying to save money!"

"You know what- I'm not even trying." Mike dropped the delapidated slice of pizza back in the box, shaking sauce off his hands. "I am not going to fight you tonight."

It wasn't until later that Briggs realized he hadn't seen Mike smile in days.

* * *

Briggs lay in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was a rough night.

Getting in any kind of relationship with Mike was not a good idea. For anybody.

Damn it, the kid was just too pretty for his own good. It was the first thing Briggs had noticed, on the morning he'd met him. Looking oh-so streamlined in that button-down, eyes sparkling the way every newbie's did... Briggs wondered how much he'd disappointed him, when they'd met. Likely a far cry from what he'd expected. Mike Warren, fresh from Quantico, so ready to start his new life, while Briggs sat there and imagined what the kid's hair would feel like between his fingers...

If this continued, he might well find out.

And now there were those new fantasies he had to ignore... newly awakened by those kisses. Undoing each button on that shirt, painstakingly slowly... longer, deeper kisses, leaving them moaning into each other's mouths...

But it was all on Mike. Whatever was in his comfort zone. Briggs wasn't even sure Mike really wanted him.

The shuffling foosteps outside his door snapped him out of his reverie. Briggs swung his legs over the side of his bed, slowly opening the door.

Sure enough, Mike was there, moving cautiously down the hall in the dark, one hand on the wall to anchor himself.

"Hey, Mike." In a low whisper. Don't want to scare him...

It was too late. The younger agent jumped back, smashing into the wall, slamming his head.

"Ow..."

"You okay?"

"Fine... just... I don't think I can... get any farther. You know..." He sighed. "The dark..."

Briggs reached out in the gloom.

"Okay, I'm right here, just step forward a bit- there you go." The warmth of another- trembling- body settled into his arms. "Where were you going?"

"Outside." Mike mumbled. "Just onto the deck. I need some air."

Briggs nodded, helping the other man along.

"Go on. I'm right here... good..."

Mike's robe chafed his training officer's arms. Briggs tried to focus on reaching the door, and not the bare skin under the terry cloth.

Somehow, they stumbled their way out the door, into the humid summer night. The distant waves sloshed over the shore.

"It's beautiful here." Mike murmured.

"I know. Couldn't believe my eyes when I first came." Briggs looked down, realizing the other man was still in his arms. "Do you want me to leave...?"

Mike shook his head.

"No. And don't let go." He nestled closer to the other man. "It sounds stupid, I know, but... that house just felt... too small..."

"No, I understand."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry about all this." Mike whispered, his hand covering Briggs'. The other man shook his head.

"It's okay. You're not to blame. Although, I do miss having you out on the field."

"_I_ miss the _field_. And then I remember-" He paused, then continued. "What happened."

"I know."

Briggs pressed his lips into the other man's hair.

"Still, stuff like that doesn't always happen."

"But when it does..." Mike sighed. "I feel like I'm on a cliff and someone about to push me forward and I'll just fall..."

"Well..." Briggs pulled the other man to his chest tightly. "When you feel like that... tell me." The man turned in his arms, looking up at him with the strangest expression, hands settling on his chest... "I promise, I won't let you fall."

There was silence, aside from the waves in the distance.

"I feel like there should be a kiss a here." The younger man whispered. Briggs nodded, his mouth dry.

"Yeah." He croaked. It was almost a mercy when their lips finally met, arms wrapping around the other's body.

"We should go back in."

"Yeah."

The door creaked opened and shut again, the older man helping Mike back to his bedroom. The tantalizing scent of aftershave just brushed Briggs' nose and then the door shut with a dull thud.

The man leaned against the wall blindly, taking a deep breath.

They were both so screwed.

* * *

**Review, anyone?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, first of all, I really want to apologize about how slow I've been in updating. Also- thanks to everybody who's reviewed so far! I love hearing from you! So now, without any further ado-**

* * *

Mike stirred, eyes blinking open. His room was filled with sunlight- he must have overslept. Rubbing at his eyes, he sat up awkwardly, the sheets tangled around his legs, and reached for the robe discarded on the floor. Pulling it on, he noticed- not for the first time- how much thinner he was. He could count his ribs just by running a hand over his chest.

The others were gone, out on their various cases. Now in the kitchen, Mike opened the refridgerator door, out of habit. He still had no appetite, and his body was not forgiving him for the pizza from last night.

There was a sheet of printer paper on the counter, covered in large, untidy scrawl.

_Mike: _

_Do what you want. Sleep, go to the beach, watch tv, whatever. Don't do everyone else's chores on the wheel, you're not our personal maid._

_AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, EAT SOMETHING._

There was no signature.

Mike sat at his usual stool, rubbing at his temples. More dreams last night... and then those couple moments with Briggs had cleared them off for a couple hours. But then the same inevitable flashbacks washed over him. Mike shuddered.

This silence. Anything to break this silence.

He stood, heading back to his room, flicking the TV on. Anything to kill the quiet. Tucking the sheets under his pillow, he didn't even register the screen until he heard the now-unmistakable slam of a fist into flesh. Abandoning his bed, he looked over his shoulder in horror at the fight quickly breaking out on screen- a grunt and a flash of blood in the otherwise bluish-black color scheme of the camera...

_"Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"_

Some guy's head smashed into a wall as a hand connected with his jaw...

Mike gave a strangled cry, scrambling for the remote to change the channel, turn the screen off, _something..._

But no, oh no, it was already starting, he could feel the rope around his wrists, the throbbing ache wherever the fists landed, the toe of a boot smashing into his shin...

"Fuck, no!"

His fingers pressed blindly, no, no, why wouldn't it work? Why couldn't he make his hands work?

"Please, please, no..." The last word came as a sob as finally the volume muted and Mike dropped to his knees, covering his head with his hands. "I don't know, I don't know... I don't know... please!"

One foot lashed out, his entire body convulsing-

"Please, no! I don't know anything! Don't..."

Somehow, his nose was several inches from the carpet... mouth gagging as his stomach heaved... didn't matter, there was nothing to bring up...

"Please… someone…"

The horrible images still flashed on the screen above him... Mike raised a hand, shaking violently, as yet another scream split the air-

"God, _please!_"

A flash and finally the images were gone, leaving Mike crumpled on the floor, sobbing.

"Help me..." He whispered hoarsely. "Just... help me..."

* * *

He didn't say anything at dinner. He didn't say anything afterwards as they cleaned up. He just sat there, eyes on the plate in front of him until someone took it away.

He'd woken up in his bed, not sure how he'd got there. The others were already home, moving quietly about in the kitchen.

DJ laid a hand on his shoulder as Mike stood, reaching for the glasses of those nearest to him.

"No. I'll get those, you rest."

Mike wondered what had happened when they'd gotten home. He couldn't remember a thing... he'd just... woken in bed, a stabbing headache in his brain... they all tip-toed around him with these faint, worried smiles...

"Okay." He whispered, allowing the other man to take the glasses from him. Almost immediately, another set of hands landed on his shoulders.

"You okay?"

Mike nodded, closing his eyes... _Briggs..._

Briggs sighed.

"You're not, are you?"

The younger man said nothing, gnawing on his lip as he stood, mumbling something about heading back for the night.

The others watched him go, concern etched in their eyes.

"He's been so quiet..." Paige murmured. "Ever since he woke up..."

Charlie paused as she loaded plates into the dishwasher.

"I mean, finding him this afternoon... just slumped on the floor like that... I didn't know if he was passed out or dead or..."

"Must have had a flashback or something..." Johnny said, handing her another bowl.

"Must have..."

"Poor guy..."

Briggs sat down at the table.

"That kid's been messed up so bad... I don't know what we're going to do."

* * *

Briggs was barely surprised when the knock came at his door. He looked up from the book he'd been staring at for the past few minutes-

"Come in."

The door opened slowly, with a creak that should have won prizes. It was Mike, pale and trembling, staring at Briggs with wide eyes.

"C-canistayheretonight?"

"Wait- what?"

"Can... can I stay here tonight? I... I can't... can't shut myself in there... alone, and- I mean- I just..." He sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to- I mean, if you don't want me here- I- I can go-"

"No." Briggs stood, joining the man at the door. "No, no. If... if that's what you want, then..."

Mike looked up, cheeks and ears burning.

"Are you sure? I mean... I don't want to intrude..."

"And I don't want to push you out. If that's what you want to do... go and get your stuff. I'll be right here."

Mike swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry... I just can't be alone now... I just can't... I'll... I'll go crazy..."

"Shh... Get your stuff. I don't mind, trust me."

Mike looked up at him, eyes welling up.

"Thank you... I'll- I'll be back..."

His footsteps sounded down the hall. Briggs sat back on his bed- something he was likely going to be sharing. His breath caught- they'd be so close together... god, what was the ettiquette in this situation? What did you say?

Another knock on the still-open door, and Mike shuffled into view, now in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Um..."

"Come on in."

Briggs stood as the other man entered, awkwardly moving around the side of the room. Neither looked at each other for several moments. Finally, Briggs moved aside several inches, breaking the silence.

"So... hey."

"Hey."

"You- you don't have to hang onto the wall like that."

Mike swallowed, stepping closer.

"So... um..." He looked down at his bare feet. "Like I said... I'm really sorry..."

"Mike, it's okay-"

"I really shouldn't be doing this..."

"Mike-"

"I just-"

Briggs cut him off, clearing the distance between them with a gentle kiss, which gradually melted into an embrace, as Mike buried his face in his shoulder, lips grazing at his skin. Briggs gently brought the boy's head up, running a thumb down his cheek.

"You don't need to do that... I'm not- I'm not looking for..."

Mike shrugged, not moving, arms remaining around the other man's neck, sighing as Briggs ran a hand down his back, over his shoulder blades...

Mike hissed in pain, jumping away from him.

"What, what did I do?"

"You... got the..._ ow_!"

"Got the what?" Briggs laid a gentle hand on Mike's arm. "Show me?"

Mike shook his head violently, wincing.

"Mike... what have we missed?"

Eyes screwed shut, Mike slowly turned, pulling up the bottom of his t-shirt. Briggs sucked in breath. Several inches of skin glowed an angry pinkish-red, dotted with blisters in several random places on his back.

"Good god... Mike, what did they do to you?"

He let the shirt fall, turning back to Briggs.

"I... I don't remember. I... I think I blocked it out... I must have... I think there's a lot… that I blocked out… I- I've been putting compresses on it, and Neosporin, but…"

"Is there anything else?"

"Some..." Mike swallowed. "Knife wounds,"

"_Knife_ wounds?"

"But most of them aren't too deep. I'm... I'm taking care of them... and bruises, of course..."

"And you don't remember when they did it?"

"No... I..."

* * *

_The hellish heat sears against his back, not touching him, but so close- too close..._

_"No, please, don't!"_

* * *

Mike dropped onto the bed, covering his face.

"I don't know..." He seized Briggs' hand. "I just want to forget it all... forget everything..."

"Hush... come here..."

Mike wordlessly obeyed, crawling into his training officer's lap, burying his face in his shoulder- hiding from the world. Briggs landed on his back softly, breathing a sigh, the other man a dead weight on his chest...

When their lips finally met, the kiss was salty and short-lived, broken by Mike's sobs.

"Shh..."

"I'm- I'm so sorry..."

"Mike..." Briggs stroked his hair.

"Yeah?"

"You can fight this. I _know_ you can fight this. Just-"

Mike shook his head.

"No. Not without you."

Another, deeper, kiss as he shifted his knees around Briggs' hips, hands clinging to the front of his shirt.

"I'm not always going to be here."

"I know that-"

"-You've got to learn to-"

"-So can we just make the most of it?"

Briggs looked up at the man above him, glimmering eyes projecting some kind of plea... the weight against his hips was more intense now.

"Please... I need this... I need you."

The other man drew Mike's head down, cupping his face in his hands.

"Mike... we're done talking."

Their lips met in a long kiss, hands yanking at t-shirts and sweatpants, glorying in bare skin...

Mike winced as the fabric chafed the burn on his shoulder blade.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... I'll... get through it..."

_And God..._ Briggs thought, dragging his lips down the other man's bare chest, eliciting a smoky moan, _his voice should be illegal..._

Kissing... stroking... even licking at the sweat on each other's limbs...

"Are you sure this is what you want? I... don't want to hurt you..." Briggs murmured. Mike nodded, a damp lock of hair falling in his eyes. The other man brushed it away, hand trembling, noticing the tear trickling down Mike's cheek.

"You... said no more... talking..."

A flex of his hips and Mike's eyes widened, lips parted in a cry as the world exploded around them, drowning in sensation...

* * *

It was the thrashing beside him that woke Briggs, the terrified whimpers growing more and more panicked... He raised his head in alarm, still half-asleep.

"Mike? Mike, what's- Mike!"

The other man's eyes flew open, still screaming.

"Shh! Shh, it's okay, it's okay, you're safe... I'm here."

Mike sat up, clinging to his hand, breathing hard.

"I- I-"

"Shh... just breathe for now, okay?"

"C- curling... iron..."

"What?"

"I... I remember now." Mike leaned his head against Briggs' chest. "They..." He took a gulping gasp of air and continued. "They took a curling iron from... from one of the girls... and... they plugged it in and they..." A sharp swallow as his lower lip started to tremble..."They fucking held the thing against me- " The first cracking sob shuddered through him. "And they just stood there and listened to me! It's... it's when I sleep... that I remember everything... and I- oh god, I can't deal!"

* * *

_His body aches too much to care if they hit one more time... what's another round of bruises? But now they're tossing the thing around... red sparkly rubber in the naked light... and they're _laughing _about it. His Russian is only rudimentary, but he can get the gist..._

_"No, do his cheek!"_

_"Back of his neck!"_

_"Why not burn some of his hair off?"_

_And then whoever's closest has it and they stick it down the back of his shirt, letting it radiate heat, baking his skin... closer... and closer..._

_It only ever touches him once, but one brush of scorching metal is enough. The pain blinds him for several moments. When he can see again, his vision blurs immediately because he's started to cry like a baby and because he's lost all hope of ever getting out... he's going to die here..._

* * *

Mike shuddered, clinging to Briggs, the older man wrapping his arms around him, murmuring little words of comfort that meant nothing at all...

"Mike, just-" He stared at the tears running down the other man's face. "Baby..."

"Don't... don't tell me I'm better than this." Mike sobbed. "Don't tell me I need to pull myself together. I know. I'm trying. Just… give me a moment to… let it- let it out."

Briggs nodded.

"I know. I know you're trying. Maybe you're trying too hard..."

"Yeah. I know."

Mike pulled his head down, bringing their lips together in a kiss that was full of salty tears.

A hand combed through his hair, thumb caressing his cheek.

"I love you..." Mike breathed, and closed his eyes. "Shit." He landed back against the pillows, joined a moment later by Briggs.

"Get some sleep." He murmured. It did not escape his notice that he'd all but ignored Mike's previous words. "I'll be right here."

Mike fingered the stubble on the other man's face drowsily.

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

Fifteen minutes after Mike's eyes slid shut, Briggs was on his feet, yanking on his clothes. Bruises, knives, and they burned him with a curling iron...

He nearly kissed Mike goodbye, but thought better of it. What if he woke? There'd be time when he got back.

* * *

**Review?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ah yes, Chapter 4, in which things pretty much go straight to hell.**

Briggs hadn't quite reckoned with the officer at the desk.

"Look, I can't just let you in-"

Briggs reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. The woman crossed her arms.

"And before you try, bribes don't work."

The man rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't taking money out, I was taking _this_ out."

He flipped her his FBI card. The woman sighed.

" . Go on in. It's been a long day and I'm not in the mood for this."

Briggs nodded his thanks and continued on, stopped, then turned back.

"Oh, and _this_," He said, digging through his wallet once more. "_This_ is so that no matter what you find in his cell, I wasn't here." He handed her two fifty dollar bills. She glared at him.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Look, I don't exactly have a couple thousand on me, okay?"

A cold silence and then she sighed.

"Go on. He's in room 682."

* * *

The door clanged shut behind Briggs, the inmate sitting on the cot opening one eye.

"What is this?" He asked, russian accent thickening his words.

"You're Oleg Baranov." Briggs said flatly.

"Yes. What of it?"

"I arrested you about a week ago." He stepped forward. "Might remember me."

Baranov shrugged. Briggs sighed through his nose.

"Look, let's just get to the point." He stepped forward, seizing the front of the Chechen's shirt. The back of the criminal's head slammed against the cinderblock wall.

"Look..." Baranov wheezed. "If this is some revenge trip about one of the bitches-"

"No." Briggs snapped. "This isn't about one of your victims. This is about the kid your grunts beat up before we arrested you."

"Oh, the agent we found outside the club. I'm afraid we had to find out how much he knew. That's all. Unfortunate, but... there you are."

Briggs tightened his hold on the Chechen's collar.

"So you locked him in a basement for two days, barely fed him, and _burned him with a fucking curling iron?_" Baranov didn't reply, the hand pressed against his windpipe kept him from speaking. "You messed with my boy. You beat up and honest-to-god fucked with my boy's brain."

"Oh... _your_ boy, is he?" The criminal forced the words out.

"Yeah. Mine." The agent nodded. "And you know what? I'm fucking possessive." His fist smashed into the other man's face. "That- boy-" He said between punches, "Can't- even- walk down- the hall- on his own." He pulled away, taking in the blood that poured from Baranov's nose with grim satisfaction. "You wanted to know how much information he had? You ended up scarring his brain."

The Chechen struggled against his attacker, only to have a knee slam into his groin, holding him against the wall. He doubled over, groaning at another blow to his jaw.

"Oh, does that hurt?" Briggs asked. "Good. Now you know what it was like for him. Just count yourself lucky I didn't bring any rope, because if I had, you'd be tied to that chair over there and I'd show you exactly what you did to him."

Baranov only groaned in reply.

"Damn you." The agent hissed. "Damn you and every one of you that laid hands on him."

The Chechen glared up at him.

"Let go of me and leave me alone."

Briggs watched him a for a moment, disgust curling his upper lip.

"No." He said eventually. "I don't think I will. Doesn't work like that."

His fist swung forward.

* * *

It was close to one in the morning when Briggs tiptoed back into his bedroom, stripping before sliding under the sheets. He'd dropped by the restrooms at the police station to rinse the traces of blood from Baranov's wounds off his hands.

Mike's arm had flopped over the rest of the pillows while the other man was gone. Briggs smiled, moving his arm slowly back to his side of the bed. As an after-thought, he smoothed some the hair from Mike's forehead, brushing a light kiss there. The younger man's eyes fluttered open.

"Hm?" A light of recognition showed in his eyes. "Hey, Briggs."

"Hey, babe." A pause. "You can stop calling me Briggs, by the way. I mean... kind of stupid to now, right?"

"I... okay. Hey... Paul..." A smile broke across Mike's face, like daylight. "Why'd you wake me up?"

Briggs smiled weakly.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Mike shrugged, laying his head on the other man's chest. Several moments later, his breath slowed, deepening as he fell asleep. Briggs wasn't far behind him, fingers tangled in his hair, the smile never quite leaving his face.

* * *

Briggs opened his eyes, squinting in the sudden light. Mike, wrapped in the bed's coverlet, had opened the blinds.

"Can you not?" He groaned.

"No." Mike said distantly. "I like mornings, and I don't feel like fighting today. So just... no."

Briggs huffed, rolling over, pulling the sheet with him. Occasionally he snuck glances at Mike, at the blanket sliding off one pale hip. From his vantage point, he could see several of the burns on his skin. The memories of his fist crashing into the Chechen's mouth surfaced in his memory, bringing a twisted little smile to his face.

Mike sighed by the window, and, inwardly, Briggs gave up all hope of more sleep. Looking over his shoulder, he found the younger man clutching the coverlet around his waist, one hand pressed against the wall, teeth set in a grimace. Briggs sat up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just- um-" He took a step and winced. "You know... first time. And the bruises are acting up." Gingerly, he made his way to the bed, carefully lowering himself onto the mattress.

Briggs rubbed at his eyes.

"Well, seeing as I'm probably not going to get back to sleep... tell you what. We get dressed and I'll make you breakfast."

Mike's lips twitched.

"I'm still not hungry."

"Doesn't matter. No- don't get up, I'll get your stuff."

The older agent swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his briefs. Mike caught his t-shirt as it went flying by.

"And here's your boxers."

He caught those too.

Briggs made his way around the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor as he helped the other man into his sweatpants, brushing little kisses along his knee and down his calf. Mike sighed, closing his eyes as he arched his back, toes curling.

Damn. This guy was good with his mouth. Good with everything frankly.

_And he's mine..._ Mike thought dreamily.

He'd had fantasies- of course he had, Briggs was too attractive not to- but never expected them to be realized.

_Mine..._

_Wait. _

_No. _

_Not mine. _

_The moment I find something outright illegal, his ass belongs to the Bureau. _

_Damn damn damn. Why him, why now, why me?_

"Mike?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" Briggs looked up at him, concern furrowing his brow. "You've got the weirdest look on your face..."

"Just... thinking about... this. I mean," Mike struggled to find an explanation. "You're my training officer. This is probably tons of rules out the window..." Deep inside him, something lay down and cried.

Briggs nodded, shrugging.

"Probably. Come on. Breakfast."

* * *

"What do you want?" Briggs strode over to the refrigerator, opening the door. Cold air puffed towards them both. Mike shrugged.

"I don' t know. I'm not hungry..."

"We'll start small." Briggs turned to the counter, scanning the surface. "I think Paige saved a muffin for you... ah, here we go."

Pulling the blueberry muffin out of its ziplock bag, he dropped it onto a plate, handing it to Mike.

"There you go."

Mike took it reluctantly, seating himself at the counter as Briggs took out a pan, lathering it in cooking spray. The younger man frowned, muffin halfway to his lips.

"Are you seriously supposed to put that much on?" He asked. Briggs shrugged.

"I don't know. That's the way I cook, and you've been eating my pancakes for the last couple of months so I doubt there's anything seriously wrong. Eat that." He added, turning to the stove. "Are you going to want eggs?"

It was Mike's turn to shrug.

"I'll make some extra, then. Just in case. Eat that."

"Okay, okay!"

A pause while Mike picked at his breakfast. He looked up.

"Hey, I just wanted to let you know, I'm still really sorry about last night... I mean, I just barged in..."

Briggs gestured vaguely with the spatula.

"Mike, after last night, do you honestly think I'm complaining?"

"I know, but-"

"I mean, I wouldn't mind you barging in again tonight..."

Mike fought the urge to bury his head in his hands.

_Not good, Mike, not good. You shouldn't get involved like this. Not when you're just going to have to turn him in. And you'd throw all those kisses, all those fucks back in his face... you're going to have to choose... don't get involved. _

"...okay..." He heard himself say.

"I mean, that's only if you want to..."

_Yeah, that's the problem. I really, really want to..._

"I do, trust me, I do."

Charlie stood in the hallway, watching the two men silently, an amused smile on her face.

"Hey, what's the hold-"

The woman thrust out her arm, planting a finger on her lips. Johnny looked at her quizzically. She jerked her head towards the kitchen, where Briggs and Mike were currently involved in a deep kiss, leaning awkwardly over the counter.

Johnny looked incredulous.

"... the fuck?"

Mike muttered something as they broke apart and Briggs turned hurriedly back to the eggs, which were slowly beginning to scorch in the pan. They carried on some kind of conversation, interspersed with the occasional, "Eat that."

Tipping the eggs onto a plate, Briggs looked back at Mike. His eyes lit up when he saw the empty plate.

"Oh my god, Mike, you ate the whole thing!" He went around the counter, pulling him into a long embrace. Mike's eyes flicked towards the hallway, where Charlie and Johnny stood, staring. Briggs followed his gaze, nodding to the others before bringing Mike back for another kiss. "The eggs are done, if you want some..." He murmured. Mike shook his head.

"Let's take it slow."

Johnny snorted, striding into the kitchen, just as Mike caught his training officer's hand.

'Hey, Briggs-"

"-Paul-"

"What happened to your hand?"

They both looked down at the purplish-red bruises on Briggs' knuckles, Mike running his fingers over them.

"You hit somebody." He said. "You hit somebody a lot." He looked up, suspicion clouding in his eyes. "What happened last night?"

Briggs rolled his eyes.

"What do you think happened, Mike? You tell me Baranov's men cooked you to a turn and... what did you expect me to do? I paid a call on our Chechen friend and gave him hell."

"Hold on, what's this about being cooked?" Charlie and Johnny looked at each other in confusion.

"You shouldn't have done that." Mike muttered. "I'm serious, I'm not worth it-"

"The hell you are!"

"Oh shit." Johnny muttered and turned back for his room. "I'm done, _not_ sitting through this..."

"You went after him." Mike said flatly.

"Yeah, I did."

"Yeah, well that doesn't make you any better than he is!" He caught Briggs' arm. "I'm telling you, I've been on the recieving end. I mean... you know what happens when somebody goes on a revenge trip. Look what happened to Lauren!"

Briggs fixed him with a cold stare.

"We both know full well what happened to Lauren." He strode to the refridgerator, pulling out a bottle of rum. "I did what I did, now can we move on?"

"They did the same thing to me and you didn't move on. And neither did I. You really inflicted that on another person? Sometimes, I can't tell the difference between you and the Mafia!"

Briggs spun around, bottle in hand.

"Babe, I want you to think very carefully about everything that we just said and put it in context. Baranov let a bunch of his heavies torture you out of your fucking mind-"

"I was _not_ out of my mind!"

"No, you just got an urge to clean the whole damn apartment, and the next day you just... fell asleep on the floor. They _damaged_ you."

"Yeah, and what's this about getting cooked?" Charlie asked from the doorway.

"Oh nothing, only Mikey here neglected to mention that the Chechens roasted him with a curling iron. Show her, Mike."

Mike buried his face in his hands.

"Briggs..."

"Seriously, show her."

Reluctantly, the younger agent stood, yanking up the back of his t-shirt, wincing as the cottons chafed against the burns.

"Just burned him to a crisp and listened to him scream."

"Shit..." Mike heard Charlie say. He sat again, hearing the echoes of the voices in his head...

_"No, do his cheek!"_

_"Back of his neck!"_

_"Why not burn some of his hair off?"_

_His blubbering, terrified screams reverberated on the walls as he stared, vision blurring, into the lightbulb till his eyes burned... heat, white-hot heat..._

"... Mike, Mike, come back to me!"

Someone was forcing water between his lips, head suppported against someone else's chest. Slowly, Charlie's face swam into focus, she brushed a hand over his forehead.

"You just went white and slumped over, Paul had to catch you before you landed on the floor." She stood back. "Can you stand up or..."

Mike nodded, slowly pulling himself out of Briggs' arms, using the barstool for support.

"I... think I should... get back to bed... I... shit... I think I'm going to be sick..." He'd gone a ghastly shade of green, pressing a hand over his mouth as he stumbled down the hall for the bathroom, waving the others off. "I... don't want you all to see this..."

There was a faint choking noise, muffled sobs following. Briggs started forward, only to be stopped by Charlie.

"Don't. He's angry at you right now. I'll get him."

Charlie emerged several minutes later, helping Mike down the hall for his own room. Once she'd emerged, Briggs followed her back into the kitchen, quietly helping her clean up the pan the eggs were in. The eggs themselves were still on the plate, cold and now unnappetizing.

"Let me guess," He said after a while. "I fucked up."

"You slept with him- oh, don't give me that look, everybody knows, you two are louder than alley cats in heat- and then you went and punched Baranov's lights out and expected your physical/emotional trauma patient of a boyfriend to kiss you and say well done honey?" Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'd say you fucked up."

"It got personal, okay?" Briggs snapped. "You know me. I can't let things go."

"You're overprotective, is what you are."

Briggs shrugged.

"Whatever."

"But seriously." Charlie waved a spatula around, trying to organize her thoughts. "Try and think of this from his perspective. You mess with him one night and then suddenly you mention that you all but reenacted his interrogation on Baranov. That," She dumped the spatula in the sink. "That's going to make him feel ten times less secure around you than he was before."

"Okay, Charlie, I get it."

"You screwed last night?"

"Um, you just said-"

Charlie sighed in exasperation.

"That was rhetorical. You screwed him last night. Just to let you know, I'd be _really nice_ to him for the next couple of weeks or so because this morning was one shitty thank you."

She thrust the pan at him.

"You can wash that."

* * *

Charlie knocked on Mike's door and waited. Several moments later, he spoke from within, voice thick.

"I don't want to talk."

"You sure?"

A pause.

"... okay... come in..."

She opened the door slowly to find Mike sitting on his bed, tears running down his cheeks, eyes red. He looked up.

"I'm..."

Charlie sat beside him.

"Something you need to talk about?"

Mike didn't respond, still sobbing. Finally, he raised his head, face blotchy.

"I... he's... he's just..."

The woman beside him sighed, putting an arm around him.

"Mike, it's only fair that I tell you this now to prepare you. These kinds of relationships- employer and employee, training officer and trainee... when they turn romantic or sexual... they don't end well."

"You think I don't know that?" Mike snapped. "I know the numbers. At least seventy percent of the time those relationships turn abusive."

"Yeah, but Mike. That doesn't mean yours will."

He looked away, saying nothing.

"Right, Mike?"

"Huh. Sure."

Charlie sighed.

"Come on. Talk to me."

"I... I don't know what to say... I mean... I love him, I really do... it _hurts_ sometimes... but..."

"Yeah?" Charlie prompted.

"Nothing. I'm... I'm done. I want to be alone right now."

"You sure?" Charlie stood slowly, reluctant to leave.

"Yes." Mike said firmly. "I need... I need to think."

He shut the door behind her, leaning against it, trying to ignore the pain from both the burns and the knot in his throat.

Another knock. He didn't call out to them.

"Mike? Are you in there?"

"... yeah. I'm here." He murmured.

"I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry. I was... an idiot... I didn't think. Mike? Mike, talk to me. Please."

Mike didn't reply.

"I... I can't stay out here forever. Just... I know you're in there. I was stupid, I got angry, I admit it. Don't do this to me. You're not listening to me, are you? Just tuning me out."

Mike slid onto the floor, eyes closed, listening to Briggs speak softly through the door.

"I mean... last night was... incredible, and then... I'm sorry, Mike. I'm really sorry." Nothing. "For god's sake, can you just talk already?"

_You don't understand. I can't look at you. You all but tortured him because of me. You've given him those dreams, that same terror... _

_... And if I see you one more time... I might scream the whole thing out and that'll be the end. How I'm here to turn you in to the Bureau, for whatever reason. And then it's over. _

_No Graceland, no D.C, no job? _

_No you._

"Mike? Don't do this. Not when... not after..." A pause. "I've got to go. Just... just." A sigh. "I love you, okay? I fucking love you. And no amount of silence is going to change that, okay?"

The footsteps trailed away from his door.

Mike buried his head in his hands and wailed.

* * *

Another day alone and the silence was already there. But by now, Mike knew better than to turn on the television.

He'd spent almost an hour in his room, struggling with his feelings, his priorities. _Ambition or romance? Grandad or training officer? _

It helped when he didn't think of their names. Just... things. Like he wasn't completely rewriting his life. Whatever happened... it would take him in opposite directions...

Mike sighed, tears drying on his cheeks, and crept into Briggs' empty room. Just one last time... before he had to start never forgiving him. _Just another lie..._

Funny. He'd never really noticed the room itself. The green of the walls, the hundreds of figures of Bhudda...

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the unmade bed, ignoring the stains and the faint smell of sex that still clung to the sheets.

_No..._ He told himself, feeling the sob rise his in his throat. _No, I can't... I can't cry anymore... I won't _let_ myself... this is it. Just... just keep looking... _

"No. No!"

He landed on his stomach, sobs gasping out of him, hands scrabbling against the sheets... because how could he give this up now? Give up the maelstrom that was Paul Briggs for... Washington D.C? A desk job? The miniscule possibility of becoming Director? Not here, not now, not with the scent of both their bodies around him...

"No... no..."

His fist pounded into the pillow... God, it smelled like _him_... like his hair and his damn Old Spice...

He lay there, shaking, until a faint, insistent stabbing in his belly pulled him to his feet. Hunger. His appetite was coming back.

Reluctantly, he left the room, foraging the kitchen for something small. He eventually settled on a couple saltines, stomach rebelling at the blandness.

He returned to Briggs' room once he finished eating, nestling in the dirty sheets. Call it love, call it guilt... call it whatever.

The final, shuddering sob leaving him, Mike's eyes slid shut, exhaustion overtaking him at last.


End file.
